Turning Point
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: Thea Queen was weak. She left Starling City to find her strength, but first she has to find it within herself. This is a story of her personal transformation. There are hard truths she has to accept. There are things she has to be willing to do.
1. Focus

**Focus**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen  
>Flavor: Drama<br>Language: no  
>Violence: no<br>Nudity: none  
>Sex: none<br>Other: none

_Author's Note:_

This story takes place between Arrow season 2 and season 3. These are my ideas of how Thea works out her issues with her weakness, her mourning and depression, and reaches a point where she embraces strength and the ability - and most importantly the will - to fight.

This story is not related to "Green & Black," but this is my version of Malcolm Merlyn, and he still has the scars I gave him there.

This can be seen as a continuation of "How I Met my Father" by Die Astra and myself, though it can also be read on its own.

Yes, I misquote Nightwish. It makes more sense to me that way.

Insights on depression from personal experience. Insights on archery training and mechanics thanks to Dark Empress V.

* * *

><p>(My torment) has but one truth:<br>I weep to have what I fear to lose.

-Nightwish  
>"Gethsemane"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Focus<strong>

===#===

Thea faced the _kyoshi_, mirroring the fighting stance, but her shoulders were rounded, her head low. The _kyoshi_ threw a slow punch, and Thea went through the motions of blocking and counter attack. Sloppy.

"Again."

The combatants reset and went through the drill once more. Thea's blocks were too soft; her strikes had no snap to them. Weak.

"Harder."

The _kyoshi_ struck out, a bit faster. Thea threw an arm out barely in time, and was knocked off balance by the power of the blow. She staggered back.

"Thea-"

"This is stupid!" She turned and stomped off the mat. "I quit!"

Malcolm clenched his teeth at his daughter's disrespect. He moved to the edge of the mat. "Miyuki." The woman, twice Thea's age but the same height, turned to him. "That will be all for today. Thank you." He gave her a proper bow.

She returned it crisply, palms lightly slapping against her legs. Without a word, she turned and walked off, spine and shoulders straight. She was a woman of few words, but great patience - a perfect teacher for Thea.

Unlike her impatient father.

Malcolm sighed. _She's in mourning._ He couldn't blame her. Moira's loss still weighed heavily on him, and he wasn't even sure he was still in love with the woman. Why had she betrayed him? He'd been so angry, but more than revenge or retaliation, he wanted an explanation.

If only he had access to the Lazarus Pit, all this could be solved. But no. That thing was more of a curse than a blessing.

He found Thea outside, tossing crumbs into the koi in the pond. She slumped forward on the bench, elbows on her knees, her hair falling lankly around her face. She looked as if the weight of her sorrow was crushing her, and she'd lost the strength to bear it.

His first impulse was to snap her out of it. He'd mollycoddled Tommy for too long, and if he'd taken a firmer hand with his son sooner...

Malcolm shook his head. Thea was his daughter, not his son. If he pushed her too hard, too soon, she could break.

He crossed to her, took a seat on the bench beside her. "You'll make the fish fat."

"You gotta fatten them up to eat them, don't you?"

"You want to eat a carp?" He made a face, then smiled gently at her. "Not a good idea."

She didn't look up. "If you came here to lecture me, save it."

"No. Just to talk." He observed her a few moments as she rolled little bits of bread into balls, tossed them into the water, watched the ornamental fish break the surface with eager mouths. "Thea, I know how you feel."

"No you don't." She chucked a wad of bread to the far side of the pond.

He reached out and took her hand in his. She glared at him, but he met her eyes steadily. "When I lost my wife, Rebecca... That's what I felt: lost. It was as if a huge part of my life - the heart of it, the very meaning - was gone. Ripped away from me." He paused to swallow, to try to retain a grip on his emotion.

It wasn't as easy to let go around Thea, as it had been with Moira and Tommy. They weren't total strangers, but he didn't feel safe being so open and vulnerable to her. And she hated him.

He looked down at their joined hands. "I hurt so badly inside." He turned his hand so that if she looked, she could see the scars on his wrist shadowed within the sleeve. Through his lashes, he caught sight of her head lowering, her mouth opening slightly. "Everything seemed so difficult, so useless. Some days... it was an effort to just keep breathing."

She swallowed. He took a breath and looked up into her eyes once more. They were less guarded, now. "You've lost so much. Your mother. Your brother. Your... lover." Her eyes welled up with pain, but he went on. "You home. Your life. Everything."

Her tears spilled over, and he leaned to embrace her. She pulled away. She always did that; she clung to her hatred. But after a moment, the pain overwhelmed her, and she needed him.

He folded her in his arms and drew her to his chest. "I know how badly it hurts," he told her gently. "But you need to find something to focus on, some goal, some meaning to give your life."

"It's so hard," she sobbed against him.

"I know, baby."

"I just want to go to sleep for years and years, and make it all go away, but every time I close my eyes, all I can see is her. When he st-st-st-" She started shaking, and he held her more tightly. "Her face... Her grave..."

Malcolm tried to be strong for his daughter, but he felt the same pain, the same loss. "He's dead," he said huskily. Slade Wilson: the demon that had come from nowhere to destroy Oliver's life and the ones he loved. "They had to kill him; he was too dangerous to let live." He stroked Thea's hair, trying to quell his rage. Rage at the man who'd murdered Moira, and anger at the archer who didn't stop it.

"Your mother was a strong, proud woman." He took Thea by the arms, pushed her away a bit so he could look into her face. "She'd want you to be strong, just like she was."

Thea dropped her gaze, her shoulders rounding once more. "I don't know how."

"Come with me. I want to show you something."

===#===

Along one side of the villa was a wide hall. Racks of swords lined the walls, interspersed with armor of oriental design. Malcolm took Thea past all that, to the far end, where archery gear was stored.

Thea wiped her face on her sleeve, heedless of making a mess of her clothes. Or her face, though it didn't matter since she wasn't wearing makeup anyway. She hadn't bothered about her appearance for... days. Weeks? It was all she could do to get out of bed some mornings.

Malcolm selected a simple bowstave from the pegs on the wall and strung it with ease. "I'd like to teach you how to shoot a bow."

"I know how to shoot a bow."

He turned to her with a brow crooked in surprise. "You do?" A faint smile traced his lips.

"Yeah." At 14, she'd had a total Orlando Bloom/Legolas fixation, and her high school had an archery team. So she'd bought the gear and joined up. "I was on the team. We won state champs, twice."

His faint smile transformed into a full-on beam of pride. Thea blushed slightly. It wasn't as if she'd been anything special. Just the way he looked at her, exactly like a proud parent. She found it harder and harder to stay angry at him.

He didn't wear the stiff suits any more, or that hooded armor thing. He wore casual shirts, sneakers even. He wasn't that cold, distant stranger, not any more. They lived together now, and she saw him at his worst - padding around in pajama bottoms and t-shirt, unshaven with his hair in disarray, cursing when he dropped pieces of eggshell in the frying pan. It made him less perfect. More human.

He held out the bow. "Show me what you can do."

"What am I shooting at?" She took it and moved a bit away from the wall.

He pulled a free-standing quiver from the phalanx and placed it near to hand. He nodded towards the far end of the hall. There were wooden panels with targets chalked on them, hanging on the walls.

She pulled out an arrow and studied it a moment. It didn't have a smooth target head like she was used to, but a triple vane. She turned her attention to the fletching to identify the cock feather and place it to the outside of the bow as she nocked the arrow.

She took a breath and drew the bow. There was a bit of wobble; it had been a while since she'd done this. She sighted along the shaft, raised her aim slightly, and released.

The arrow thunked into the bottom of the target. She grimaced. Her father remained silent.

She grabbed another arrow and tried again. Better, but low and to the right. So she nocked another one. She could get a little obsessive, determined to do it right.

"Widen your stance. Stay evenly balanced," her father murmured, and she adjusted with barely a pause.

This chalk target sucked. With a modern bull's-eye, you at least got points for hitting different rings. This thing was a tiny point where two lines crossed.

"Keep your breathing calm, smooth."

Thea concentrated on her breathing. She tuned everything out but the bow, the arrow, the target. Breathe. Hold. Release.

===#===

Malcolm watched his daughter shoot. He didn't look at the target; he didn't want to be judgmental of her success or failure. Instead he watched her form. He could see she was a bit rusty, but with some gentle reminders, she fell back into her routine.

God, she was beautiful. Like a young Diana, goddess of the hunt. His heart swelled with pride and yes, love. His family was important to him; he'd wanted to protect and nurture her - his and Moira's child. But until this moment, he hadn't _felt_ it: that bond.

In the next moment, he felt fear.

Fear of losing what he now had, this precious fragile thing.

He'd saved Thea from death in the madness of that riot. He'd taken her from the people that were lying to her, he'd brought her with him, to protect her. But he was a marked man. That made her a target.

Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew what he had to do.

===#===

Thea reached for another arrow, but her fingers closed on empty air. She blinked and looked around, feeling as if she'd been asleep, or in a trance. How much time had passed?

She looked over at her father. His head was down, his eyes unfocused, a pensive frown on his face. "What's wrong?"

He looked up. "Nothing." He smiled slightly.

She set her jaw. "You said you wouldn't lie to me."

"You're right." He ducked his head sheepishly. "May I defer the question until another day?"

"I guess." The question really was: did she want to know? Right now, no. She was feeling down again, the reality of her loss, of her mother's murder, flooding back after her respite of no-thought while she was trying to shoot.

"Now for the fun part," Malcolm said, tipping his head as he started towards the target. Fetching the arrows. Yay. Thea set down the bow and followed.

Malcolm had already gathered a few of them in one hand. The wood of the target was hard; the bladed points hadn't sunk into it the way target arrows would with hay or styrofoam.

Thea grabbed a couple and wedged them loose. "I didn't score any hits," she said in self-deprecation. "Don't you have a bigger bull's-eye?"

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Unless you're planning to kill a fly with your arrows. Which would be a bit of overkill, don't you think?" He shot a quick grin at her.

"I don't want to kill anyone," she insisted.

He looked away; the smile vanished. "All right."

She exhaled in frustration. Just when you thought a guy had a bit of humanity, he had to go and remind you that he was a mass murderer at heart. She turned away in disgust.

"Thea!"

"What?"

"That's not what this is for."

She turned back to him, grudgingly listening to what he had to say.

"When everything overwhelms you, when you can't think clearly, when you can't control the thoughts and images that run through your mind... The archery will help you focus. Better than-" He broke off and looked down.

Thea reached out and grabbed his left wrist, pulled. At first, he resisted, and she could feel the steel core of his strength. Then he relented and let her see, let her push his sleeve back, though he looked embarrassed.

She touched the scar lines running across the inside of his forearm. "Better than this?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Yes."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I... I was young. I was hurting. I didn't have my training, then. I didn't know better." His blue eyes met hers. "I have traveled this same path you are on, Thea. I know there aren't any shortcuts; I know you have to work through this pain and loneliness. But maybe, just maybe, I can help you make the journey faster. Help you avoid the pitfalls and dead ends." He searched her face. "All I want is to help you."

She bit her lip. Then she released his arm and plucked the group of arrows from his hand. "I'd like to be alone for a while."

He nodded. "Of course."

He left, and Thea returned to the shooting area. She started over, not concerning herself with the targets, though she ended up clustering her arrows together anyway. She shot arrows until her fingers went numb from the drag of the bowstring. Then she shot until they hurt like hell. Her left arm ached from holding the bow, her elbow and forearm stung from the slap of the string. She didn't stop until the light grew dim.

Then she unstrung the bow, not as easily as her father had strung it, and she put it away.

She washed up and went into the kitchen. She was feeling numb, calm. Her mind had quieted, and she had a bit more of an appetite than usual.

Malcolm was there, sitting at the kitchen bar, eating his dinner. He set down his bowl. "Hungry?"

She nodded and slipped onto the stool across from him. He got up and went to the pot on the stove while Thea picked up a pair of chopsticks. She winced as she tried to hold them. "You cooked again?"

"Is that a tone of surprise, or just dismay?"

"I didn't say anything."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You know, once upon a time, when I was a successful, wealthy, well-respected businessman - also known as 'the good old days' - I never had time to cook. I had staff to prepare meals. Or I went out to dinner." He scooped some dumplings, rice, and vegetables into a bowl and brought it to her. "Now, I have nothing but time. Why shouldn't I learn to cook?" He resumed his seat.

"No reason, I guess." She started wondering if she could manage these chopsticks with her left hand.

"Let me see."

She looked up, startled by the firm command. "It's noth-"

He ignored her and pulled her hands across the bar. His touch was surprisingly gentle over her fingertips. "I have something that will help. But tomorrow, we'll get you a pair of shooting gloves." He pushed up her left sleeve, much as she'd done with his before, revealing the reddened skin. "And an arm guard."

"Shouldn't I just get tough and calloused?" she asked bitterly. "Like you?"

"I wear gloves. And armor that includes an arm guard."

She sighed and picked at her food. "But that's what you want, isn't it? That's why you keep pushing me to learn to fight."

"You said you wanted to be strong."

"Strong, not... I don't want to kill people. I'm not like you."

"You don't need to attack people," he said. "But you ought to know how to defend yourself."

She shook her head, not in a mood to argue. She ate her dumplings.

"Thea. I won't always be here to protect you."

She looked at him, but didn't want to see the sorrow in his eyes. She looked away.

She wasn't ready.

===_X_===


	2. Motivation

**Motivation**

_CONTENT:_  
>Rating: Mature<br>Flavor: Drama  
>Language: yes!<br>Violence: a little  
>Nudity: none<br>Sex: none  
>Other: none<p>

_Author's Note:_

I had a plan for this part. Malcolm had a plan for this part. Then Thea flew off the handle, and, well... at least one of us is good at quick thinking and adjusting one's plans. (And one of us just rewrites things three times ::cough::) (And Thea really needs to have it out with Oliver. She has issues. And I don't blame her.)

* * *

><p>I would stop running<br>If I knew there was a chance.  
>It tears me apart to sacrifice it all,<br>but I'm forced to let go.

-Within Temptation  
>"Frozen"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Motivation<strong>

===#===

Thea worked with the compound bow now. It was more powerful. It took more strength to pull it, but it was easier to hold steady, to hold longer. Her father had been right: archery helped her focus, put her mind to rest. She still had nightmares, but she felt more in control of her waking life. Stronger.

Malcolm found her new targets to practice on. Smaller, moving, even hidden, out in the garden. As she conquered each new challenge, her confidence grew.

"Thea, it's time for lunch!"

She stood a moment longer, poised in balance, tension on the string. She watched the willow wand swaying in the breeze. Back and forth... back and forth... back and forth...

She lowered the bow, slowly easing the string home. She put the arrow back in her quiver. She didn't have anything to prove.

Malcolm tipped his head as she came into the house. "What were you doing?"

"Not killing flies with a bow and arrow." She set the bow and quiver down close to hand, released the velcro on her gloves and peeled them off. She settled on the high-backed cushion at the side of the low dining table.

He chuckled dryly and joined her. There was tea and a platter of sushi. Thea picked a trio of favorites to grace her plate. "You ordered this in, right?"

"Don't you trust me to prepare puffer fish?" he teased.

"Are you duly licensed to prepare puffer fish?" she countered.

"No, you got me there." He smiled and looked at her, a bit disconcertingly. Then his expression shifted. He looked down and concentrated on eating.

Thea knew how to read him now. He was trying to hide his feelings behind an icy facade. What she didn't know was why. She ate her own lunch and let the silence stretch thin.

Finally, she couldn't take it any more. "Dad, what's wrong?"

His head snapped up and emotion flashed in his eyes. That facade he'd been working on crumbled, and he looked away, almost as if he would flee.

Thea winced inwardly. She hadn't meant to call him that, it had just slipped out. This was the first time. She looked off awkwardly as well. She didn't want to make a big deal of it. It didn't mean anything.

He covered by taking a slow sip of tea, then patting his lips with a napkin. When he spoke, his voice was under tight control. "You asked me that last week, and I wanted to postpone answering. But now it is time you and I talked about this."

"All right." A bad feeling settled in her gut.

"I need to leave here."

"You need to... by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"That... doesn't really matter." He lowered his eyes.

"Well, when are you coming back?"

He took a breath, slowly exhaled. When he looked at her, she could see pain behind his placid eyes. "I'm not."

"What?" She tensed. That bad feeling exploded into panic. He was leaving? Abandoning her? "Why?"

"Thea, there are people hunting me. Dangerous people." He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. "Being with me, it's putting you in danger."

"You can't just leave me here!" She pushed to her knees to rise, but he held her firmly. "I don't even speak Japanese!"

"Easy. Calm down." He tugged at her arm and she sank back onto the cushion. "I've set up financial accounts for you. They're not the bottomless trust funds of Merlyn Global and Queen Consolidated, but they will last if you use them wisely. You can get a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go. Europe, Australia - even back to Starling City if you want."

"No, I don't want that." Starling City was a smoking crater as far as she was concerned. "I don't want you to leave me here alone."

"Sweetheart, I'm not abandoning you."

"Yes you are! What else does 'I'm leaving and never coming back' mean?" She tried to yank her hand free, but he refused to let go.

"I don't want to. You are all that I have left in this world that means anything to me." His face creased in pain. "It tears me apart, but if anything happened to you because of what I've done..."

"What if these dangerous people find me?" she insisted. "What if they use me to get to you? Who is going to protect me?"

"It's safer for you if you never see me again."

"That is bullshit!" She leapt to her feet, knocking the cushion back, rattling her plate as she tore from his grasp. "It's that same bullshit that Mom and Oliver kept pulling on me! Oliver didn't even think to tell us that Slade Wilson was in our house trying to fucking kill him! Who would kill all of us just to get to Oliver! That was supposed to keep us safe?" She paced, furiously, cutting gestures in the air with her hands, shaking her hair out of her face. "It didn't fucking keep us safe! I got in Slade Wilson's goddamn car! I thought he was a friend!"

Malcolm got up and came around the table in the face of her fury, his hands held out to calm her. She was having none of that!

"I might as well have tied myself up and thrown myself in his damned trunk. I walked right into that kidnapping, because I was _so safe_ totally not knowing what Slade Wilson really was! And Ollie still didn't fucking tell us, so Slade Wilson killed Mom!" Her throat burned from screaming, her eyes from tears. After all these weeks of crying, there were still more tears. "We could have done something! Hired security. Told the cops. Something!" She quit pacing and faced her father. "Don't you dare tell me that abandoning me and leaving me in the dark is keeping me safe!" She lashed out in anger and struck him on the arm. "You're my damned father! You're supposed to protect me!" She hit him again.

He grabbed hold of her wrists. "I would die to protect you!" He pulled her close, stared down into her eyes. "But then where would you be? Slade Wilson could have done anything he wanted to you; you were helpless. You won't fight."

"I _can't!_" She twisted in his iron grip. "Look at me! I'm smaller than you, weaker than you! I can't be like you."

"Size may give a man strength, but only knowledge is power. That's what training is for. And yes, it will take time, and it will be difficult." He released her. "I can teach you. But you have to want to learn."

She backed away slowly. "So that's the price, then? For me to stay with you, I have to learn to be like you?"

"It's not for me, Thea; it's for you. For you to learn to be strong, to protect yourself. So that you no longer _need_ me." A shadow passed behind his eyes. "And no, you don't have to be like me. You can be like your mother."

Thea thought about her mother. She had so much anger towards her, but when it came to defending her children, Moira Queen had been a tigress. She hadn't feared Slade Wilson. Nor death. She'd stood up to him. She'd faced the blade. She'd controlled her own fate.

Thea swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks. Her mother was dead, her father could be killed. It was time for her to stand on her own. She took a breath. "I'm ready."

Malcolm watched her a long moment, studying her, judging her. She closed her hands into fists, feeling the strength the bow had imparted to them. She stood straight, with the power of an archer's stance.

When he pulled the knife from his tunic, her confidence cracked. She backed away.

Malcolm frowned at her. "After all this, you're still afraid of me?"

"Since I can't depend on you to always protect me," she sniped.

"I would never harm you."

"Then what's with the knife?"

"It's an ancient warriors' tradition." He held the blade casually and moved to her left side. He gathered up her hair as he continued behind her. "You will leave behind your old life, your old ways. You will put aside childishness and weaknesses." He pulled her hair back in his fist, and the knife sheared through it in one short, vicious cut. "Today, you are a woman. A warrior. Get ready. We will start training in an hour."

Thea turned, her mouth agape, one hand to the back of her bare neck. She saw then the Malcolm Merlyn she knew: the implacable man made of cold stone. She fled to her room.

There, she ran over to the mirror. She touched her hair, what was left of it. She'd thought it would look ragged, crooked, but no. The knife had made a clean cut. It was a bit high in the back, but longer around her face. She ran her fingertips along her jawline, touching the fringe. It felt so different. She felt exposed, vulnerable, without the curtain of hair, but now that it was gone, it didn't cut off her vision at the sides. She could see clearly the world around her.

She looked different. The angle of her jaw was sharper, her chin lost its softness. _This is Thea Merlyn_, she realized.

She turned to get her gi.

===_X_===


	3. Struggle

**Struggle**

_CONTENT:  
><em>Rating: Mature  
>Flavor: Drama<br>Language: yes  
>Violence: yes<br>Nudity: none  
>Sex: see other<br>Other: sexual assault, cliffhanger (because you know i love those)

_Author's Note:_

And I know you love cliffhangers, too! ;P (If you don't, bah! Just wait a few days til the next part comes out.)

Sorry if you hate the character-looking-in-a-mirror meme, but it really serves a thematic purpose here, and is NOT just to be able to describe the character to the reader. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, even better!)

I suppose I should also apologize for the trope/cliche' of sexually assaulting the female character. But this is something that women who become martial artists need to deal with. And Malcolm has something to say about it (but in the next chapter).

Italian from Google Translate, mostly. Any/all errors are its. :X Italian restaurant name from somewhere in Canada. No relation to the original.

* * *

><p>Carry on,<br>You will always remember  
>Carry on,<br>Nothing equals the splendor  
>Now your life's no longer empty<br>Surely heaven waits for you

Carry on my wayward son  
>There'll be peace when you are done<br>Lay your weary head to rest  
>Don't you cry,<br>Don't you cry no more!

-Kansas  
>"Carry on Wayward Son"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Struggle<strong>

===#===

Thea had been training for months, now. It was intense training, and often she felt pushed too hard. At times, she'd wanted to quit, but then they would have to move, and she would get a respite.

Martial Arts wasn't the only thing Malcolm taught her. He began telling her stories about his business career. At first, Thea had thought he just missed 'the good old days,' and wanted to aggrandize his accomplishments. The stories grew more current, and he began asking what she thought the best course of action would be, and that's when she realized he was grooming her to take his place. Or, rather, to take her mother's place.

Thea had to accept that Moira had been a close partner in Malcolm's 'Undertaking.' It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing all over again that her mother had lied and manipulated her. Malcolm swore he never threatened or coerced Moira. What she'd said at the press conference had to be a fabrication to protect herself from the backlash after the earthquake had ensued.

Reading the emotions behind his eyes, Thea worked out that her mother's betrayal had hurt him, and frankly, confused him. But there would be no explanations forthcoming. Those had been lost along with everything else that had died with Moira Queen.

===#===

They went shopping in Verona. Thea drooled over the latest haute couture of this season, but Malcolm vetoed the Versace gold lame' off-the-shoulder dress. "You're going to a business meeting, not clubbing," he'd insisted.

"Why can't you go to it?" Merlyn Global was no longer a viable company, but her father had others - subsidiaries, shell corporations - under various names.

"Because I've had several meetings with Armatucci. He knows me."

"Just wear some buck teeth, thick glasses, and do your hair like Austin Powers. No one will recognize you." She'd laid on a thick hillbilly twang. "You can be Billy Bowman of Arkansas." She'd snorted at the resultant look on his face. "You're so vain."

Vain, but adamant. No Versace for her. She'd ended up with a modest blouse in warm browns with gold and black accents, and long sleeves that covered the developing muscles of her arms. The matching skirt, on the other hand, was designed to reveal the musculature of her legs.

Thea checked out the effect in the mirror as she got ready for the meeting. She smoothed the skirt and fluffed the blouse's shoulders. Her makeup was sophisticated and subtle, with a darker shade of lipstick that united the outfit's colours with her dark hair.

Her hair was so short, there weren't a lot of ways she could wear it. So she'd bought a pair of earrings to match. She hooked them into her ears.

There was a knock on her door. One thing she'd insisted on, no matter where they were or what training they were doing, was that her room be an inviolate sanctuary. "It's open," she called.

Her father came in and observed her over her shoulder. His expression was unguarded for once. Pride welled up in his eyes, touched with a bit of nostalgia. "You look beautiful. Your mother would be so proud."

Thea flushed. "Thanks, Dad." She tried to calm herself. She was only stepping into the corporate shark pool, not going to a debutante ball. She turned and saw he held a small box in his hand. "What's this?"

He opened it, revealing a simple necklace of gold with a single round pendant. "This is a tigers eye. It's not very valuable, but Rebecca always said it symbolized inner strength. She liked to wear it to important meetings." His voice grew thick, though she could see him struggle to control it. "I would like very much for you to have it."

Thea couldn't find her breath a moment. Malcolm was utterly devoted to his wife, even after so long without her. To give her Rebecca's jewelry... She touched his arm. "I know how much this means to you," she told him. "I... I don't know what to say."

He took a moment to collect himself. "Just say that you will wear it with pride."

"I will."

He lifted it reverently from the box, opened the clasp. Thea turned around so he could fasten it behind her neck. The tigers eye was cool and smooth under her fingertips. It went well with the outfit, and it would have set off the highlights of her hair, back when it was long.

"I know she wasn't your mother," Malcolm said softly, "but I think she would be proud of the young woman you are becoming. I know Tommy always liked you."

She quirked a brow at him in the mirror.

"All right." He grimaced sheepishly. "Maybe not when you were six and an utter brat."

She smiled a bit, but sadness washed over her. "I miss him," she confessed. She wasn't sure how Malcolm felt about it. He occasionally spoke about Rebecca, but never Tommy.

"I miss him, too."

She turned to face him. "Do you feel guilty?"

"No."

She frowned. "He died in that earthquake you caused," she accused him.

He took a breath. "Tommy made a choice." She narrowed her eyes to call bullshit on him, but then he went on. "He chose to go into danger to save the woman he loved. And he succeeded."

"But he died doing it."

"Trust me, Thea, that is better than living on after failing, or..." He winced. "Not even trying." He looked into her eyes. "If he could, Tommy would tell you that he believed it was worth the sacrifice he made, and if he had to do it all over again, he would."

She looked away. "Like Mom." Suddenly, it became clear. Moira had chosen to die in order to save her children. She would have had no regrets in her decision.

Malcolm rested his hands on her shoulders, his palms warm. "If we are very lucky, we will be able to choose the circumstances of our deaths. If we die fighting for something we believe in, then it will not be in vain."

Thea felt a chill with all this talk about dying. All she wanted was a normal life. A life of fun parties, a decent job, loyal friends, a caring family. Growing old. It seemed the universe conspired against her at every turn.

Her father squeezed her shoulders. "It's going to be all right."

She took a breath and touched his hand in gratitude. Then she leaned closer to the mirror to inspect her makeup. It had become easier to suppress her tears. She wiped her lower lids free of dampness.

Malcolm stepped back. "There's nothing to be nervous about." Her mind went back to the business meeting. "Remember, they're more afraid of you than you are of them. You're just going to walk in there and show them the papers. There will be a discussion - just like we practiced."

Thea nodded.

"If they don't capitulate, pick up your things, and tell them what I told you to say. Just that, nothing more. Don't wait for a response, don't answer any questions, just walk away."

She had rehearsed that line, too, but she was still nervous.

Malcolm tipped his head. "Most importantly, if he really annoys you, you can punch him in the throat."

"Thanks, Dad." She smirked. "You really know what to say to boost my confidence."

"That's my girl."

===#===

Malcolm dropped Thea off in front of the office building with the reassurance that he would be nearby.

He perched on a rooftop across the street, using a spotting scope to see into Armatucci's office. He felt like a parent sending his child off to school for the first time, he realized. When he'd returned to Starling City to take Thea away, he'd been lonely, aching for someone to love and care for - oh, not in a romantic way. But in a familial way.

His son was gone. His daughter... she was his last chance to prove he wasn't a selfish, hard-hearted bastard doomed to die alone and unloved.

===#===

Thea took a breath and checked her reflection in the polished brass wall of the elevator. She straightened her spine, set her shoulders back, as if preparing to shoot her bow. She thought back to the night Isabel Rochev had strolled into Verdant and told Thea to pack it up.

_I am a bitch._ She didn't say it out loud; you never knew what surveillance devices these things had. _No... I am Thea, Queen of the Merlyn Empire, and I am royal bitch supreme._ Her eyes flashed and a superior smile tugged at the corner of her upper lip. _And if I don't like what you have to say, Mr. Armatucci, I will punch you in the throat._

The elevator glided to a stop, and the doors slid open. She touched the gemstone at the base of her neck and walked out like a tigress.

===#===

The meeting went predictably. Thea ignored Armatucci's attempts at ingratiating flattery the way she'd seen her mother fending off attention at parties and political functions. Always with a calm polite smile, always with a core of ice.

After spending months learning to read Malcolm's stone facade, Armatucci was an open book. Despite his conciliatory smiles, Thea could tell before the meeting was one-third over that he had no intention of signing the contract. Still, she carried on. It was the done thing, after all. Business politeness.

At last Armatucci spread his hands. "Alas, _bella_, Mercator Trust's board members are determined to keep our alliances within our own country. Patriotism, you understand." He gave an apologetic shrug and a 'what can you do?' smile.

Thea nodded and began collecting her files. "I do thank you for your time, Mr. Armatucci."

"The pleasure was all mine, _signorina_."

_Yes it was, jerkwad._ She smiled. "But before you give me your final answer, I suggest you consider what happened to your colleagues in Trieste." She turned and strode towards the door. "I will call you before noon tomorrow. Good evening, Mr. Armatucci."

===#===

Malcolm picked her up a few minutes later. "How did it go?"

"Not that great. He didn't want to sign."

"He will."

Thea snorted softly. She'd felt her 'mission' had been a failure, but it hadn't been, really. Her father had given her a contingency plan, so everything would be all right. Then she smiled to herself. "You should have seen the look on his face when I mentioned Trieste."

Malcolm didn't say anything, but she saw the smug look on his face as he suppressed a smile.

"What?" Her mind darted over the information she had, and it clicked together. "You _did_ see it?"

His smile broke out into a full-on beam of pride and mischief.

She frowned back. "You were spying on me?"

"Not spying. I was watching over you."

"Oh, well, that's so much better," she griped. "But let me make it perfectly clear right now, this 'watching over' business is _not_ to be applied to any dates I go on."

His smile vanished, replaced by a look of near-panicked concern.

"Don't worry." She sighed. "I'm not looking to start that again. Not any time soon." Life was too complicated for a relationship. Not to mention that the disaster of mistrust and lies the last one had been had left her reluctant to let anyone get close to her again. Her father's relieved look prompted Thea's old nature to resurface. "But I really would like to get laid."

"Thea!"

She grabbed at the dashboard because she thought for sure he would crash the car. It lasted only a moment; there was barely a wobble before he recovered control. Thea started laughing. "Oh my God, you are so easy!"

"That was not funny," he grumbled.

"You didn't see your face." She pressed her lips shut on another laugh and looked out the window. It was after dark. The bridge was lit up beautifully.

Malcolm drove on, and eventually turned to cross it.

"Where are we going?" she asked him. This wasn't the way to their hotel.

"I've made a reservation at Il Fornello to celebrate your successful business meeting."

She quirked a brow. "You made reservations before you knew it would be a success?"

He smiled. "I never doubted you for a second."

Thea's heart warmed at his pride.

===#===

Armatucci grabbed his phone as Thea Queen was waiting for the elevator. "We did not get out of Merlyn Global's clutches just to be taken over by some other goddamned American," he snarled to his silent assistant. "Giovanni," he barked into the phone. "That bitch just leaving the building. Take some of the boys and follow her. Mess her up."

===#===

The valet got the car door for Thea, but Malcolm waved off the other at the driver's side. She stopped and turned to him. "You're not coming?"

"It's really better if I don't go out in public too much."

A wave of disappointment flowed through her, but it soon ebbed. It was a practical decision, a necessity of the harsh reality in which they lived. Thea would have to learn to live within such limitations and precautions.

She could still enjoy the here and now. A fine dinner, served by a proper, respectful (and downright good-looking) waiter, an hour or so out of the house, away from her dad. No agenda, no training. Just simple enjoyment.

After a rich chocolate souffle and a glass of Passito di Pantelleria, she freshened up in the fully-attended washroom, then stepped outside to call her father to come pick her up. "It's such a nice night, I think I'll take a walk. I'm heading north a few blocks."

"_Be careful._"

Thea rolled her eyes. Like she was going to play in traffic? "Yes, Dad." Parents were all the same.

She strolled along the avenue, enjoying the warm air, the glitter of the city lights. It wasn't crowded; traffic was light; a few couples were walking along towards the restaurant. Up ahead, Thea could see the brilliant sign of a nightclub.

A dark sedan rolled to a stop at the curb just ahead. She peered at it, but no, it wasn't her father. The windows were all rolled down; she saw a couple guys in there. "_Ehi, ragazza!_"

She huffed out a breath of annoyance. No matter where in the world you went, or what new culture you experienced, guys would always be dicks. She ignored them, her head high, her eyes forward, and walked past.

The three of them got out of the car and trailed along behind her. "Hey, _bella! Bambina!_"

_I'm going to nail you right in the 'bambino-maker,' punk._ She turned to face them. "Guys, I'm waiting for someone."

"Don't be like that. We like Americana girls."

"Let us show you a good time, _si?_"

Thea half turned away and fished her phone out of her purse. She couldn't wait here; she'd tell her dad to pick her up at that club a few doors down.

"Who you calling, _bambina?_ You got a boyfriend?"

"No," she growled. Then one of them grabbed the phone out of her hand. "Hey!"

With a taunting grin, he opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a high-pitched wheeze as her foot impacted with his balls. He folded over, and she cracked her elbow across his face. "Agh!" He collapsed to his knees, clutching a bloody nose.

"You little bitch!"

She whirled to her right, striking out with her fist, but she couldn't get her weight properly behind it while tottering on high heels. He caught the blow on his arm, then grabbed her. She pulled at him, but he was too big, too bulky.

The other one grabbed her other arm, and her purse spilled to the sidewalk. She kicked, back, down, and drove her high heel into his shin. He yelped, and she yanked her arm free.

"Hold her!"

She seized the hand of the guy still hanging on to her arm, preparing to break his grip. Before she could, he caught her across the face with his fist. She staggered, momentarily blinded and stunned, and lost her grip. She kicked out and missed, then a fist slammed into her stomach.

Pain exploded inside her, and she couldn't breathe. An arm snaked around her throat and hauled her back off her feet. She clawed at it ineffectually. Blackness encroached on the edges of her vision.

The last thing she saw clearly was the first punk getting up and coming at her, a snarl on his bloodied face. A knife flashed in his hand. "You are going to pay for this, _puttana!_"

===_X_===


	4. Conviction

**Conviction**

_CONTENT:_  
>Rating: Mature<br>Flavor: Drama  
>Language: yes<br>Violence: oh yes  
>Nudity: semi (f, m)<br>Sex: see other  
>Other: sexual assault<p>

_Author's Note:_

Part of this scene is swiped from my story _Green & Black: Recurve_, so you may recognize it. This is where the seed of this story originated; I was imagining Malcolm training Thea in the upcoming season, and how this scene would have gone differently if it were Thea he was rescuing.

Another revelation I had this morning... sooner or later, people realize what an advantage it is to have a ruthless, cold-blooded, vicious murderer on their side... ;) (Malcolm can be on my team any day!)

* * *

><p>I am<br>Indestructible;  
>Determination that is<br>Incorruptible;  
>From the other side,<br>A terror to behold;  
>Annihilation will be<br>Unavoidable;  
>Every broken<br>Enemy will know,  
>That their opponent had to<br>Be invincible.

-Disturbed  
>"Indestructible"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Conviction<strong>

===#===

Malcolm slowed the car as he drew closer to where Thea said she'd meet him. He frowned at the car parked in the way, then pulled in ahead of it, at the far side of the alleyway. He looked around for his daughter, but saw no one except a passing older couple.

Then he noticed the club up ahead and grumbled to himself. If she'd gone off partying...! He pulled out his phone and hit her number.

There was no answer, but he had the windows rolled down, and he could hear a cell phone ringing nearby.

Trepidation creeping into his bones, he got out of the car, letting the phone continue to ring. He followed the sound to the gutter near the other car, and his heart started pounding. Where was she?

Frantically, he looked around, all his senses on alert. There was no sign of - wait. There was a purse in the mouth of the alley. He clicked off his phone and shoved it back in his pocket as he trotted into the dark, narrow passage. It was empty, dammit! "Thea?" he called.

He ventured further into the alley. He could hear a dull thumping coming from the club, music permeating the brick walls. His heartbeat was louder, and faster.

Then he heard a faint cry, the muffled scream of his child. It brought him to a door, a steel core door with an industrial lock. It didn't survive his demolishing kick. "Thea!"

He ran through a dark hall and turned in at a doorway. In that room, he found three men holding his daughter down, her clothes torn. One of them had a knife, and part of Malcolm's mind catalogued the weapon, but his attention was fixed on the man in the center, who had his hands pressing down on Thea's knees even as she kicked, whose pants were pooled around his knees. Whose eyes were bulging as he looked up at this interruption.

With an inhuman growl, Malcolm attacked. The man tried to struggle to his feet, or at least to get away, but his legs were tangled in his clothes. Malcolm helped by bodily picking him up and throwing him into a shelving unit by the wall. Metal crumpled, and various bottles, boxes, and one body crashed to the floor.

The guy with the knife jumped at Malcolm from the side. He raised his arm to deflect the weapon. He wasn't wearing his leather armor, but it hardly mattered; he barely felt the blade slice into his forearm. He circled his arm around and seized his attacker's wrist. He twisted; bone and cartilage cracked. Malcolm lashed out and punched the man in the throat. He collapsed, gagging.

Malcolm followed up mercilessly with a hammer blow to his skull and a rib-crushing kick. Then he turned and pounced on the third man, who was still stunned and holding Thea by the arm. Malcolm landed on the guy's back, a knee planted in his kidney. He collapsed straight out, screaming in pain. Malcolm grabbed his hair and forcibly introduced his face to the concrete floor a couple of times, until he spasmed and went still.

Thea was curling protectively in on herself, Malcolm noted with a glance. The first guy was struggling to get up, mewling as broken glass cut into his skin. He dragged himself to his knees, hanging precariously on the twisted shelving.

Malcolm snarled and strode over to him. The guy threw out a hand - in defense or attack, it didn't matter; Malcolm grabbed it, yanked it out straight, twisted, and then popped the elbow joint. The man howled, and Malcolm shut him up with a fist to his face.

He snapped a kick to the man's midsection, doubling him over. He didn't let up, but kept kicking, sinking his foot into the soft flesh of the leg, pulverizing the ribs. His vision went red and blood pounded in his ears.

Then, Thea's voice penetrated the rage. She sobbed quietly. He stopped and went to crouch in front of her, his hands out solicitously, but not daring to touch her. "Are you hurt?" He could see half her face swelling with a livid bruise, her lip split. But that wasn't what he meant. "Sweetheart, did they hurt you?"

She shook her head, and clutched at the torn strips of her shirt, folded her arms around to cover herself.

"Thea..." His voice darkened. "Did he touch you?" She sobbed and kept shaking her head. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" He didn't know what to do. If these vermin had violated his daughter, and he hadn't been able to protect her...

"No." She snuffled a breath. "I'm okay. He didn't... didn't have time."

He dared to touch her then, gently, on the arm. She flinched. He pulled his hand back, his fingers curling into a fist. He got up and fetched the knife from where it had fallen.

He held it out to her. "Take this," he said. "Kill them."

===#===

Thea looked dully at the knife her father held out to her. She was trembling, her mind and body numbed with shock. She'd tried to fight, as she'd been taught, but they'd overpowered her. She was still weak.

"They hurt you," Malcolm said, anger smoldering in his voice. "Take back your life. Make them pay."

He hadn't killed them? One of them moaned and stirred. He hadn't killed them! Thea's heart thumped. He wanted her to kill them.

Part of her wanted to, but she recoiled from the thought of actually stabbing someone, cutting them, of snuffing out the life of another human being. She shook her head. "I can't."

"You want them to live?"

She kept shaking her head, in answer, in denial... She was _not_ a killer. "I can't!" She put her hands over her face, squeezed her eyes shut. "I _can't!_"

===#===

Malcolm clenched his teeth. He thought she'd be stronger than this, stronger than Tommy - hadn't she proven that at the train station? After everything she'd seen, everything she'd been through, she still lacked the conviction.

He, older and wiser, did not.

He went and slit the throats of the two bastards who'd held her down. As for the third...

Malcolm looked down on the broken, quivering heap. "_Per favore...,_" the man pleaded, his eyes wide, pale in the mask of blood. "_No... non mi-!_" He begged for mercy. He should have thought of that before he'd decided to attack a young woman in the street.

"You tried to rape my daughter," Malcolm growled, showing his teeth.

The bastard hadn't been able to get his pants back up; there was nothing to stop the spread of the yellow puddle under him.

Malcolm raised the knife. He was not merciful.

===#===

Thea scooted back, still sitting with her legs folded under her, leaning on one hand, the other across her chest. She huddled in on herself, not watching, not listening. Her father was terrifying in his rage. He'd never raised his voice to her, except perhaps to bark orders during training. He was always patient, even when she teased him. She shivered.

Something warm and wet touched the edge of her hand. She jerked back, looked down. It was blood pooling on the floor from the dead men.

She stood up, shakily, and tried to smooth her torn dress. The shredded strips of her blouse, she had to hold clutched to her chest with one hand. "We have to get out of here," she muttered.

Malcolm left the knife buried in the body, taking a moment to wipe the handle down with a bit of bloody cloth. He came to her side, hesitant, his eyes cast down, his face devoid of anger. All that was left was his sorrow and compassion.

Thea pressed against him. He was so strong, so warm. She didn't care that his shirt was damp with blood. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she felt protected.

They made it to the car without being seen. Thea was still intermittently trembling and fighting off shock. She finally came to her senses enough to notice the blood soaking his sleeve. "You're bleeding!"

"It's mostly clotted," he said, his eyes not leaving the road.

Stubborn man. "Pull over and let me wrap it up." She dug around under her seat for the first aid kit.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"If you pass out from blood loss and crash this car and kill us both, I'll never speak to you again!"

She got him to stop for at least a few minutes. He gripped the steering wheel and stared out the window while she ministered to him. Her stomach clenched at the sight of the gore, but she kept on. "You should have a doctor look at this."

"No."

"What if it needs stitches?" She swiped it with an alcohol pad, but couldn't tell if she was cleaning it or just smearing blood around.

"Oh, it will." He didn't even twitch.

"And who do you expect to be doing that?" He didn't answer. Great. "Well, I've never done that - or any sewing - in my life, so if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, it's going to come out crooked and leave a huge ugly scar."

"One more scar will hardly make a difference."

She didn't have anything to say to that, so she just concentrated on wrapping the gauze bandage snugly around his arm. By the time she neared the end, he quit staring out the windshield and watched her.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

She frowned. "What?" It wasn't obvious?

"Everyone loses a fight sometime," he said quietly. "You can't let it sap your confidence. We should analyze what happened so we can be prepared next time. So I can see where your training needs more emphasis."

He waited expectantly, but she only finished tying off the bandage without looking up. She hurt. Her face hurt, her whole body ached. She didn't want to relive the attack, to go over it; she just wanted to go home, get warm, go to sleep. She just wanted to stop hurting.

"Did you fight them?"

"I tried!" she snapped, eyes stinging. "I kicked one guy in the balls; I smashed his face in. He just got up and pulled out a knife." Dammit, her tears spilled over, hot tears of frustration and humiliation.

"Why didn't you kill him?"

"I am not a killer like you!"

"Why didn't you break his legs?"

"He-He was... they were just... I thought they were just a bunch of stupid frat boys." She swiped angrily at her tears. "I thought they were just... messing around, like they wanted a date. Then... they grabbed me... hit me..."

"You always complain that you're smaller, weaker," Malcolm said, his voice still soft and gentle. "If three men try to hurt you, you have to make them stop. If you put them down, you have to make sure they stay down."

"I am _not_ a killer," she said, her voice ragged with tears and pain. "I told you that. I'm not a murderer. I'm not like you. I can't- I can't do that!" Her stomach knotted at the thought of what he'd done to those men. She cringed away from him and the blood on him.

"Thea." He leaned close, making her look into his unflinching eyes. "It is not wrong to defend yourself from someone trying to hurt you. It is not evil to prevent those people from hurting anyone ever again."

Her breath caught in her throat. His gaze held her a moment longer. Within his eyes, usually so guarded, she saw how much pain he was in because she was hurt.

Then he blinked and looked away, almost in shame. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He drove in silence for several minutes, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Then he said, "Those men chose to attack you. What happened to them is a direct consequence of that decision. It's not your fault."

Thea sat back in her seat, her free hand reaching to toy with her pendant. The tigers eye was smooth and cool, but quickly warmed against her skin. She contemplated her father's words.

Those who live by the sword, die by the sword, wasn't that how it went? And those who lived without touching a sword? She squeezed her eyes shut as her mind flashed to the image of her mother. They die by some psycho wielding a sword, anyway. Her fist closed on the tigers eye. He was right. People would chose to hurt her, to lie to her, to use her. She couldn't stop them, but she could make her own choice. Anyone who hurt Thea Queen would die by the sword.

Her father would forge her into one.

===#===

* * *

><p><em>Epilogue:<em>

The next morning, when Enrico Armitucci strode into his office, he expected another day of ruthlessly crushing Mercator Trust's various corporate enemies. He was wholly unprepared for his assistant to be in a panic.

"_Signore_ Armitucci, are you all right?" Carlos asked, hurrying to his side.

"Of course I am." He frowned. "What is wrong?"

"It's Giovanni, _signore_..."

"What now? Is he in jail after taking care of that Americana?" That would be typical of Giovanni's ham-handed manner. Nevertheless, it sent a message, and was worth the extra expense.

"Jail? No... _signore_, he's dead!"

"What? How?"

Carlos wrung his hands. "Killed... he and his boys... mutilated, _signore!_ Beaten, and cut with a knife!"

Armitucci sank slowly into his chair, a chill creeping up on him. "The Americana... is she...?"

"No sign, _signore!_"

She wasn't at least in the hospital? Where the hell-?

The phone rang.

It rang again before he could convince his arm to move to pick it up. "Hello?"

"_Mr. Armitucci,_" came the pleasant voice of the young American woman. "_Have you reconsidered the contract I've offered you?_"

"_Si, signorina._"

"_Then I'll have a courier bring the documents over for you to sign right away._"

He swallowed. "_Si, signorina._"

"_Excellent. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, signore._"

Armitucci stared at the handset a long while after it had gone dead. This... it was worse than Trieste. Finally, he replaced the phone on the cradle. "Carlos... cancel my appointments today."

"_Signore?_ Are you all right?"

"I... do not feel well." He raked his hands back through his hair. "Just do it, Carlos," he snapped before the assistant could say or ask anything else. "I need a day." He needed some time, and a bottle of martini vermouth, to regain his manhood.

===_X_===

* * *

><p><em>End Notes:<em>

_Continuity & Canon:_

I am writing one more Malcolm & Thea story, entitled "The Box." That's going to be a bit different. I have not been worrying about my stories following or working with canon, but I think they can be sorta wedged in there.

"How I Met My Father" by Astra takes place in canon, at the end of season 2. The continuation goes between S2 and S3. In the show, we see one thing Thea says to Malcolm in the limousine, about not wanting to hurt or to be hurt. And Malcolm offering to take her anywhere in the world she wants to go. If you like, chapter 2 of "How I Met My Father" could occur after that, on their way out of the city. Chapter 3 happens a day or a few after that.

This story, "Turning Point," would occur before the scenes from "Corto Maltese." In my story, they travel to Japan, and then on to Italy (with a few places in between) before going to Corto Maltese. Also during this time, Malcolm is training Thea, but not as he was trained. I've set it up so the "Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional" scene would come after the end of "Turning Point."

There is one incongruity: I had Malcolm cut Thea's hair (which wasn't cut yet in that scene). We can sort of fudge that and pretend it happens when Malcolm starts training Thea the way he was trained, or if you prefer, you can pretend her hair was cut in that scene.

"The Box" takes place in Corto Maltese, after that scene, after Thea begins her hardcore training. I'll warn you now, it's not as 'nice' as my other Malcolm & Thea stories. Please read the warnings before you start that one.


End file.
